


Til Death Do Us Part - Or Fraud Charges, Whichever Comes First

by Petrichor_and_Stardust



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: CEO Stiles, Con Artist Peter Hale, Con Artists, Fake Married AU, Flirty Peter, Kinda, M/M, Manipulation, Poly Relationships, Well - Freeform, Writer Peter Hale, con artist chris argent, fake dating au, not that serious dw, rich boi stiles, unwillingly, very very late birthday present for my cool friend ily
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2020-11-13
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:54:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27024595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Petrichor_and_Stardust/pseuds/Petrichor_and_Stardust
Summary: Peter is a very accomplished writer who happens to not be doing well and takes to pickpocketing and con artistry with his (platonic) (for now) partner in crime Chris.His new scam idea seems like an easy cash grab, high reward, no risk.Until he makes the mistake of attempting to scam youngest tech CEO in the world, Stiles Stilinski, who unknowingly calls their bluff.And now Peter and Chris must pretend to be engaged and hold a fake wedding or else all hell will break loose. Which would be a lot easier if said CEO wasn't the cutest thing on the planet.
Relationships: Chris Argent/Peter Hale, Chris Argent/Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 16
Kudos: 85





	1. The Flawless Plan

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Geoff_Ramseys_Moustache](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Geoff_Ramseys_Moustache/gifts).



> Hiiiiiii sorry this took so long skjdfbkjfa ily friend here's the first chapter i hope u like it uwu :>
> 
> anyone else who reads this go check out her fics she's a great writer

Peter was _not_ a fraud.

Every last one of his novels was beautiful, original work built from the ground up by his blood, sweat, tears and his incredible mind, if he says so himself. He worked hard for his authorship and he’ll be damned with the devil in hell if he was gonna let anyone discredit him.

So no. Peter was _not_ a fraud. At least…not academically.

See, to him, writing is gorgeous and freeing, it’s a release, an exploration. He could create and destroy and paint vivid imagery or break fragile hearts all with his words, a million combinations of the same twenty-six letters. When he wrote, he was a god, creating and ending lives on a whim, for the sadistic rush he got from seeing his readers cry. He loved writing with all his being, but it appears writing did not love him.

His career had…dwindled slightly. He _wasn’t_ a failed author. Derek had called him that a few weeks ago and he had damn near torn his throat out. He was just…in a slump.

Regardless of phrasing, he wasn’t making any money with his novels.

He couldn’t write, the words refused to flow from his brain to the keyboard, and he desperately needed some excitement in his life after forcing himself to sit in his study all hours of the day for the past month.

So.

He decided to utilize his _extremely_ good looks, witty charm and the plethora of strange skills he picked up from research (he’s not a murderer, he swears. Not that you could prove it in court, anyway, he’s quite organized) to do, well, _this_.

“There you go, sweetheart, enjoy your night,” Peter winked and pat the drunken young man on the shoulder several times, and smugly pocketed a crumpled $50 note and a silver wristwatch.

He made his way to the other side of the dingy bar, making sure to look carefree and slightly tipsy, giving a nod and an innocent smile to the security guard trying to look tough by the door. He slid into a booth some ways away from the main Friday night crowd and took a sip from the glass of scotch he had left moments before.

“How many bottles is that tonight?”

Peter locked eyes with the handsome man across the table, who was holding what looked to be a bottle of expensive vodka.

“Ten. We made good money this time,” he said with a wink and an arrogant grin.

Chris surveyed the other tables with distaste. “Not surprising. I’ll bet these people wouldn’t know good alcohol if their life depended on it. Though I suppose that works in our favour, doesn’t it, since we’re selling them fucking water in a glass bottle.”

Peter winked again; this time much more playful. “Not my fault drunk people can’t tell.”

Chris rolled his eyes at the antics, but the slight smile on his face betrayed his fondness. Peter pulled out a wad of cash from the inside pocket of his coat and began to count it on the table between them. When he finished, he slid a decent sized pile of notes across to Chris before tucking his own back away.

“There’s your cut for today, love, $250 all for you.”

Chris levelled a deadpan stare at him while Peter smirked smugly at him as though he was a dog bringing a gift to its master.

“Don’t call me love, I’m your partner in crime, not your partner in marriage,” he said, putting on a thick black coat before swallowing the last of his cheap whiskey.

“Not yet.”

“Not ever,” he shot back. “Well, as always, lovely doing illegal business with you, fantastic idea as always. Call me if you need a hand again, I can always use a couple extra hundred in the bank.”

“Of course, you know you’re the only man for me, Christopher, dear.” Peter knocked back his glass, winked at his partner and walked confidently out of the bar.

The cool night air blasted at his uncovered face and rid him of the grimy feeling the pub left on his skin - though a long, hot shower wouldn’t be bad anyway. As he stood on the curb awaiting his cab into the city, he fished out the wristwatch he’d pocketed earlier. He held it up in front of his face and laughed a deep rumble of a laugh as it glinted innocently in the moonlight.

Sure, the fake vodka was efficient money-wise, but the real thrill came from manipulating his target, getting their guard down, making them see him as nothing but another man buying a couple drinks to escape the monotony of life. The fun came from being able to take whatever he wanted, be it a silver watch or a diamond ring or a pair of sunglasses he quite liked the look of.

Peter never told Chris about his little sleight-of-hand activities. They were his to enjoy. Those moments that brought the same rush of excitement that writing a devastating death scene did. The knowledge that he has the power to create and destroy.

The squeak of tires on wet asphalt jerked him from his musings, and he hid the watch again before sliding into the cab, chuckling darkly to himself.

* * * * * * *

As the early morning sun snaked its way through his blinds, Peter sat on his faux leather sofa - the one he liked to tell people was expensive - staring wide-eyed and absolutely _beaming_ in nothing but his underwear.

Lying on the low coffee table in front of him was a newspaper with all the same usual dull news – a high school football team at a ‘big game’, some drivel a politician said, a charity got a big anonymous donation. But there was a tiny article at the very bottom of the left page, featuring a grainy photo of a teenage girl grinning like a maniac. This little article was the source of Peter’s unusual display of joy.

The title read “19-year-old college student scams the wealthy with fake wedding invites asking for gifts”.

“Absolute genius, how did I not think of that!”, he laughed incredulously. “I better not be losing my creativity, I’m not fabulously rich enough yet.”

He had been trying to come up with more lucrative scams he could pull off with his lovely partner in crime, but none of his ideas had seemed _fun_ and, honestly, what’s the point of pickpocketing and manipulating if it isn’t fun!

He had to tell Chris about this Immediately. He’d hate it but that would just make it better for Peter.

Grabbing his phone off the table, he quickly dialed Chris’ number and started excitedly pacing the room.

“What can I do for you so early on a Saturday, which you well know is my day off, asshole”, came a tired voice on the other end.

“Chris, sweets, I just found the _ultimate_ scam, it’s high reward and absolutely no risk as long as we’re smarter than a nineteen-year-old”.

“…. Peter, what the fuck are you talking about”.

“Hear me out”, Peter said in a rush, holding his free hand out in a placating gesture to the empty room, “you’ll love it”.

“When have I ever loved anything you’ve said”.

“Irrelevant, dear. The brilliant plan you are so blatantly disrespecting, is to send wedding invitations to all the incredibly wealthy and incredibly snobby people in the country who are too busy to attend a commoners wedding.”

“…why”.

“Because, Chrissie, their secretary will have no doubt dealt with this before and will just send a wedding gift back to be polite, which we will then sell for a ridiculous price to people who deserve better”, Peter grinned wildly as he finished, way too proud in himself for someone who stole an idea from a child.

“That’s actually not a bad plan, even if we get called out for scamming, we can just say we called off the wedding”, Chris said, “and don’t call me that”.

“So, are you in?”

There was a long pause, filled with Chris’ contemplative humming and Peter’s hopeful held breath, face scrunched up like Kermit on a bad day.

“Ugh, what the hell, sure, I’ll scam rich people with you, Peter”.

“Fantastic, I’ll write the invitations today, can’t wait to marry you, sweetheart”, he said, making sure to drop his voice an octave.

“Oh, shut the fuck up, you idiot”, Chris laughed before hanging up and leaving Peter grinning at the beeping of his phone.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is an entire month after the first chapter lol I'm new to this and i'm trying skdhsfksh thank you for all the kudos and comments on the first chapter!!! <3

A bell rang prettily through the air as Peter swung the door of the café open in his usual overdramatic entrance. He was the picture of tall, dark and handsome, as much as he disliked that overdone trope. His long black trench coat fluttering around his feet, he joined the line-up at the counter.

The café was warm and always filled with students desperately trying to be productive, all but injecting caffeine into their bodies, but Peter liked that about it. Some would say it’s sadistic, but he found it amusing to watch – even though he’s been in their situation countless times while writing. Besides, their coffee was good, despite being cheap.

Loud swearing snapped him out of his perverse people watching. He turned his head toward the register and saw the college student who usually served him close to tears and gripping a coffee cup concerningly tight.

“How fucking hard could it possibly be to make a cappuccino,” the man in front of Peter yelled. “Answer me, or are you deaf as well as stupid.” The girl flinched and hurriedly finished his drink before shoving it in his direction and looking away, aggressively wiping at her eyes.

As the man turned around to leave Peter bumped into him hard. When the man staggered, Peter stabilised him with a hand on his arm and a fake smile.

He sauntered up to the register and leant on the counter, smiling kindly to the girl as she got herself together again. When her attention was fully on him, he dropped an expensive looking silver watch in the tip jar and winked.

“I’ll have two flat whites and a muffin,” he said with a playful smirk. “And you can sell that for good money, sweetheart, you deserve it and so does he.”

The girl looked at him with wide eyes before erupting into disbelieving laughter. When she calmed down, she smiled at Peter and got to making his drinks.

* * *

Chris’ apartment was small, with only one bedroom and an en suite, but somehow, he managed to decorate the space to seem luxurious. He had the money for a larger, _actually luxurious_ apartment – he’d made quite a bit during his years working as an arms dealer – but that stayed in his savings account, just in case there was an emergency with his daughter. It didn’t sit right with him that she picked a university across the country, but he’d deal with it for her.

So, his apartment was small. The entryway led to a cosy living room with two pleather armchairs facing a small, dark wooden coffee table and a modestly sized flat screen. The kitchen was separated from the living room by a breakfast bar with a fake marble benchtop. Usually this benchtop would be free of clutter, but today it was covered completely with cherry red envelopes and boxes of all sizes stacked on top of each other. Chris was sat at the breakfast bar sealing more envelopes with an incredulous grin on his face.

The slam of his front door would have made another man jump, but Chris was used to sudden noises as an experienced hunter, and instead he looked up slowly, his eyes brightening when he saw Peter with a coffee and muffin for him.

“My God, I needed this so badly. I’ve been sitting here since 6am and I ran out of instant coffee. Honestly, I could kiss you right now,” Chris took the coffee almost reverently and took a long drink, missing Peter’s slight blush and satisfied grin.

Peter coughed into his hand and turned to the piles of letters. “Good to see you’re taking your role of loving fiancé seriously.” He gazed at the envelopes before his attention zeroed in on one with white paper, standing out amongst the sea of red. He picked it up and nearly spat out his coffee upon seeing who had sent it.

The back of the letter read ‘Mieczyslaw Stilinski, Honey Fox HQ’.

“uhh, hey Chris,” Peter held up the letter, “We got a letter back.”

“So?”

“It’s…from _him_ and not his secretary, like the others.”

Chris’ head shot up and they held panicked eye contact for a moment before scrabbling to open the letter. They fought over it before Peter tore it away from Chris and walked to the other side of the benchtop. He ripped open the letter and quickly scanned its contents.

“He says…he’d love to come to our wedding, and that he’s excited because he’s never been to one. He’s _honoured_ that we invited him…oh _fuck_ he’s on his way here to meet ‘the happy couple’ before the wedding.” Peter stared down at the letter before he lifted his eyes to meet Chris’ own incredulous gape.

“We’ll just tell him we called it off!”, said Chris.

Peter pouts a little at that. “We can’t do that; he’s crossing the country for us! Plus, he’s already left.”

Chris looked at him as if he’d gone insane. “What, you want to hold a _fake wedding_ so we don’t upset a twenty something year old, _who you don’t know?!”_

“…He sounded so excited for us…it’s sweet. Kinda cute.”

“You act like a criminal but you’re such a fucking softie, I swear.” Chris laughs fondly and dodges the balled-up wedding invite that Peter throws at him.

As their laughter dies out, Chris’ face grows serious.

“Fuck, ok, if we’re seriously doing this, we’ll need nice suits, a location and caterers – your sisters house should be good, it’s big and away from town-”

“oooh _shit_ I need to tell my family; I’ll never hear the end of this.”

“They’ll agree to this right? They won’t leave us hanging?”, Chris says worriedly.

Peter smiles fondly. “If my family is good at anything, it’s lying to innocent people. Trust me, if we don’t want you to know something, you won’t.”

Chris squints suspiciously at Peter. “Ominous…but good for us.”

They sit in contemplative silence for a few minutes, both thinking about the fucking mess they got themselves into and how badly it could go for them if they fuck it up.

Peter breaks the tension the way he usually does.

“What was that you said the other day about never being my partner in marriage?”

Chris lets out a thunder of a laugh and covers his face with his hands. “Do you ever stop flirting?”

Peter grins almost predatorily. “Well, my love,” he rounds the breakfast bar and puts both his hands on Chris’ shoulders, squeezing gently. He brings his mouth close to his ear. “You’ll have to get used to much, _much_ more than just flirting,” he says in a low voice.

He finds intense satisfaction in Chris’ slight shiver. 


End file.
